So, he says to me, one morning, "Catharine," says he, "I'll lave off this a little while, till I see will I be able to get a job o' work at my own trade; an' maybe God will rise up some thin' to put a dud o' clothes on us all, an' help us to pull through till the black time is over us." So, I told him to try his luck, any way; for he was killin' himself entirely on the moor.

An' so he did try; for there's not an idle bone in that same boy's skin.
But, see this, now; there's nothin' in the world to be had to do just now--an' a dale too many waitin' to do it--so all he got by the change was losin' his work on the moor.

There is himself, an' me, an' the seven childer.

Five o' the childer is under tin year old.

We are all naked; an' the house is bare; an' our health is gone wi' the want o' mate.